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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587740">A New Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moshimochi/pseuds/moshimochi'>moshimochi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Coming of Age, Dysfunctional Family, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Racism, Mentioned Ashen Wolves Students (Fire Emblem), Pre-Canon, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Worldbuilding, balthus being generally a mess, exploring Balthus as half-Kupalan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:22:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moshimochi/pseuds/moshimochi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he’s even old enough to even lift an axe, his mother kisses him goodbye one night and fades into the night sky like smoke of incense, her presence lingering and clinging to his blankets but nowhere to be seen.<br/>---<br/>This is a character study of Balthus, his family life, and the events leading up to the Ashen Wolves DLC. Written for the Balthus zine Solaris!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A New Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Huge thank you to @ Hanatamago for helping me so much with this fic! ❤️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Growing up, his mother filled his bedroom with the folklore of Kupala as he lay in bed at night, the evening buzz of Fódlan cicadas fading into the mystical tales of Kupalan heroes, sounds of the creatures who crawl the forest mountains at night, the smoke of heady incense sinking into the air. It’s from his mother that Balthus learns how there’s nothing better than a good story, how spoken word can transport you smack dab in the middle of an epic adventure, fighting monsters and claiming glory in your mind.</p><p>His favorite is the tale of Vanar the Great, an adventurer whose tongue is as sharp and fast as the edge of his magical simitaurs. He’s stronger than any bandit, too! Sometimes when the story gets scary and his mother’s voice dips into hushed tones, building anticipation and wonder, Balthus starts to wonder if this is finally the end for his favorite hero. But Vanar’s blessed by the Kupalan spirits who protect him and give him strength, so he always defeats the villain with a flourish of bravado, and a one-liner that his mom says in a funny voice, and that ends the story on a perfect note. Sometimes Vanar even gets a kiss on the cheek from a beautiful princess, too! <br/><br/>Unfortunately, his appreciation for fables leads into the appreciation for fibs, which becomes expertly handy when he has to explain where himself, his best pal Holst, and Holst’s baby sister have been all morning. <br/><br/>“There really was a fleet of pirates, I swear!” He says with full enthusiasm, himself and his gang of friends dripping mud on the ornate rugs in his father’s office. <br/><br/>“Your clothes are soiled. What is Duke Goneril going to say when we return children in such a state?” <br/><br/>Hilda does look positively miserable with mud caked in her hair, but Holst bribed her with candy to keep quiet. Balthus has to bite back a smile just thinking about it. <br/><br/>“We got dirty while riding our steeds during our great escape!” Balthus insists, and the Goneril siblings nod with affirmation behind him. <br/><br/>True, perhaps the pirates were imaginary, and the steeds they rode were great potbelly pigs kept to hunt mushrooms in Albrecht territory, but the thrill of their adventure was as real as anything. <br/><br/>His father remains unconvinced and sighs before motioning for a household servant to come attend them. “Make sure that the Goneril children return to their family in a less unsightly state. The boy’s mother can handle him.” <br/><br/>With that, he’s shuffled away from his friends and meets the disappointed gaze of his mother as she runs him a bath. Balthus anticipated that his mother might be more sympathetic to his grand journey, yet she scrubs the mud out of his dark curly hair with stilted and silent motions. <br/><br/>Sometimes she gets into moods where she looks sad and forlorn, but usually Balthus can cheer her up. His antics generally amuse her, but today she seems unfazed by the recounting of his day. <br/><br/>“Ma,” he starts as she continues to run her fingers through his hair, “are you cross with me?” <br/><br/>She scoops her hands and pours the warm water over his head. “No, dear one.” <br/><br/>This settles the worry brewing in his chest, but his mother still frowns. Despite her sad expression, he notices how pretty she is. Her strong features and tumbling curls make her stand out compared to the other ladies in the house, and he likes the fact that his mom is unique. They both carry the warmth on the mountains in their complexions, and he likes the fact that they share something special </p><p>He shivers as she towels him down, sniffling “I was only trying to be like Vanar the Great,” the trickster hero of the bedtime story she told him last night. <br/><br/>This seems to finally bring a smile to her face. <br/><br/>--- <br/><br/>Before he’s even old enough to even lift an axe, his mother kisses him goodbye one night and fades into the night sky like smoke of incense, her presence lingering and clinging to his blankets but nowhere to be seen.  <br/><br/>It’s also in short notice that his father remarries and bears another son, scrawnier than Balthus but nonetheless makes an excellent playmate. His half-brother joins his ragtag team of adventurers the moment he can walk unassisted. <br/><br/>His stepmother, however, does not take as kindly to Balthus’s grandiose playtime excursions as his own mother did. <br/><br/>As she yells at Balthus, seething to his father “He could’ve killed him,” as she clutches her son to her chest (it was only a little scrape on the knee), Balthus is struck with the odd thought that his stepmother and half-brother look nothing like him. His stepmother has hair that she keeps in a smooth bun, pulled back so tight Balthus thinks it must stretch the skin on her forehead. Every time she catches him playing with his new lil’ bro, her grey irises on him burn nearly red and he worries she’ll start blowing smoke like a dragon from his childhood bedtime stories. </p><p>He would never hurt his baby brother, but it’s true that he looks so tiny compared to Balthus - he didn’t inherit their shared father’s height, but he did inherit the freckles and brilliant red hair. Looking at his brother, he gets why Holst hovers around Hilda so much - if anyone gives his little bro trouble, he’ll send em’ flying over the Almyran border!<br/><br/>Even during the Leicester summers where they splash in the rivers and hunt frogs, sometimes staying out for so long he can’t help but poke fun when his half-brother turns pink under the sun, a wisp of a emptiness sullens his carefree laughter: he misses his mother.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Balthus anticipated that his father would want to ship him away to military school eventually, but he at least has Holst by his side as they begin their lives at the Officer’s Academy. </p><p>What he did not anticipate, however, was the discovery of the Crest of Chevalier, a sun-shaped insignia born from the blood of his veins, causing the old Crestology professor to stare at him like he was a rare and exoctic creature. <br/><br/>Suddenly, church officials crowd into the room, murmuring in hushed whispers among each other as he sits in a rickety old chair which threatens to collapse with every bounce of his leg. He should be stoked to be born with a crest - isn’t that what all the nobles here boast about? Holst’s makes him a real beast in the training ground, easily lifting weapons forged from heavy metal and shattering through training dummies. Of course, the only person who was evenly matched against Holst in the ring was himself… </p><p>“Remarkable,” says Professor Hanneman looking at Balthus with a gaze that makes him feel like a pinned laboratory specimen. <br/><br/>“How befitting of a future leader of Fodlan,” says the hottest professor in the room. She doesn’t actually sound all that impressed, but it’s the only compliment he’s been given so far that actually goes to his head. <br/><br/>“This is a matter which requires delicate care and secrecy,” urged the green tightass who’s been eyeing Balthus warily in a manner that’s reminiscent of his stepmother. Untrusting, like Balthus might break free of the chair that’s putting a cramp in his ass and wreck the pretty pristine of the monastery any minute now. “Do you understand?” He levels at Balthus, and it takes all of his effort to bite back a smartass response. <br/><br/>“Sure. Won’t tell a soul about my sparkly new crest,” he retorts, and this doesn’t seem to assuage Seteth one bit. <br/><br/>He endures one-sided conversation on the utmost importance of keeping his crest under wraps until the damn <em> archbishop </em> joins the party too, and she’s easy on the eyes, but in a way different from Professor Manuela. Like a marble statue: untouchable, cut from hard stone, a cold kind of beauty. Makes him think twice about winking at her, aside from the fact the Church would have his head for it. She smiles at Balthus like there’s something more about his crest than anyone in the room is letting onto, or maybe she’s the only one who knows. <br/><br/>He leaves the room after signing a pact of secrecy, and the cool gaze of the archbishop lingering behind him.</p><p>---</p><p>Despite the professors’ best attempts to shape Balthus into a fitting heir of House Albrecht, it’s a futile effort, but he appreciates their chutzpah for tryin’. Too bad they don’t appreciate him as equally for his efforts, which mostly cater to brawling, drinking, and womanizing in the town surrounding Garreg Mach - though not necessarily in that order! <br/><br/>The tavern he and Holst snuck out to this evening is known for the rowdy crowd, a place hardly befitting of two future house leaders of the Leicester Alliance, but he’s used to letting down expectations of his nobility by now. <br/><br/>“Damn!” He bounds a fist on the table, sending dice skittering from the unlucky throw. <br/><br/>“Tough luck, <em> Baltie</em>,” Holst guffaws, looking smug as shit. “Pay up, buddy.” <br/><br/>“About that, pal…” He takes a sheepish swig of his drink, hoping to drown his guilty face in the bitter bite of his ale. It’s cheap shit, but all he could afford. In fact, it was the very last of what he could afford. He’s now officially flat broke. <br/><br/>Balthus expected Holst to make a joke at his expense, maybe slap him over the head for not being able to pay the loser’s fee, but instead he looks uncharacteristically serious. <br/><br/>Holst crosses his arms. “You know we’re graduating soon, right?” <br/><br/>“What of it?” Balthus says, then lets the rest of the ale slide down the back of his throat. The hangover tomorrow will be killer, but for now the pleasant and numbing buzz in his chest is all he gives a shit about. <br/><br/>Holst turns away from Balthus and their table with scattered game pieces, looking through the murky window panes of the pub. In the distance, Garreg Mach sprouts from the rocky outcropping of the landscape, standing like a mountain of its own. </p><p>He wonders how the monastery would size up against the mountains of Kupala, something he’s only ever seen drawn in cartography books or illustrated by the words of his mother’s stories. It’s been awhile since he’s written to her - he hopes when he sobers up tomorrow morning he can remember to find a quill and ink. <br/><br/>There’s a pause until Holst speaks up again, voice lower than the boisterous jaunts and laughing they had a moment ago. “We’re not kids anymore.” <br/><br/>Balthus barked out a surprised laugh at that. “You getting all philosophical on me, pal?” </p><p>“One day we’ll have to manage our territories in Leicester, but you can’t manage your own tab.” Holst says it with a teasing lilt, but there’s truth that undercuts him sharper than he’d like to admit.<br/><br/>“Wow, harsh!” <br/><br/>“We have a duty to our families-” <br/><br/>“And to our territories, yeah, yeah, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” Despite the fact that Holst can drink, hustle, and tustle, like the best of ‘em, he’s got a sense of nobility Balthus wasn’t born with. He loves his best buddy, but he isn’t really in the mood to be reminded of this shortcoming either. <br/><br/>“What are you going to do when you graduate?” Holst presses, unrelenting. “I’m going to take up arms on the border - my father can’t keep fighting in his current health. Freikugel is my graduation present. It’s the gift of my birthright.”</p><p>But it’s also a curse, isn’t it? He wants to say it, but he knows Holst won’t understand. Despite being close like brothers, Holst has never understood how birthrights and crests and bloodlines and familial duties aren’t really blessings. How can it be, when they take away your choices, your free will in life? <br/><br/>When he thinks of sitting in his father’s office chair as the new Duke Albrecht, something akin to dread sloshes in his stomach, souring with the ale. <br/><br/>“Need some air-” he grunts, and doesn’t turn back to see if Holst follows him as he pushes around bar patrons until the cool night breeze meets his skin. It’s cowardly to ditch the conversation, but while his fists were built for brawling, his feet only seem to be good at running away. <br/><br/>To the left of him are the towering walls of Garreg Mach, unyielding stone and a temporary home meant to mold him into a perfect warrior, leader, noble. To his right, in the faraway hills, lies the border of the Leicester Alliance. A homeland that deserves a ruler better than him - maybe his brother. Yeah, that could work. <br/><br/>Above him, the starry sky sprawls all the way to Kupala. </p><p>---</p><p>When he packed a travel bag, ruffled his lil bro’s hair, and set off into the wild lands of the Alliance, his journey of living an untethered life started out pretty good. He borrowed some coin from nobles who hadn’t yet received word of Balthus’s defecting from House Albrecht, and with a few convincing stories and charmed winks, he had enough to keep himself relatively afloat with a few tankards here and there. </p><p>Of course, Holst had always been right - he was shit at handling finances. <br/><br/>Balthus thought that his low point was sleeping next to livestock in a barely-roofed barn, hiding from bounty hunters in a pile of hay (his old noble acquaintances from Leicester have sent their regards in the form of the pointy end of a sword.) During the night, he dreams that the pigs stepping on his spine were busty tavern maidens feeling up his muscles (or shaking him down for a tip). <br/><br/>But today, he stands corrected - passing out drunk and broke in the gutter of some alleyway on the cusp of Empire territory seems to be his official rock bottom. He barely avoided getting caught by Empire goons sent after him, and House Ordelia could only do so much in covering for his ass. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t save him from himself - his own stupid choices that landed him quite literally in the gutter. Even though he’s worth as much as the grime caking the cobblestones underneath his face, the fact that he’ll never be able to repay the Ordelias for their kindness cuts like a dagger in his chest. </p><p>He’s not sure how much time passes until he feels something softer than a shoe nudging his shoulder - a hand? </p><p>“Pardon,” a soft-spoken voice calls through the darkness, “are you alright, son?”<br/><br/>Balthus groans in response. <br/><br/>“Oh dear,” says the voice, and suddenly a warm current of healing magic radiates from his head down through his spine, smoothing out each jagged edge of pain in his body. </p><p>When the warmth eventually fades, Balthus finds that he’s able to push himself up into a sitting position. The man above him is illuminated only by the light of faith magic still lingering on his palms, casting shadows over his smile. <br/><br/>“Thanks, pal…” He’s not sure when, if ever, he’ll be able to pay back this gesture of random kindness. Balthus sheepishly attempts rubbing the crick out of his neck - <em> Goddess </em> , he misses sleeping in a real bed. The darkness enveloping them means he hasn’t slept for too long, but it’s long enough that a bounty hunter could be coming around the corner any minute. <br/><br/>“Easy there,” the man says, helping Balthus get on his feet. <br/><br/>“Thanks, uh-” He has no clue who this strange guy is. Are all the people in this part of town so friendly? No - the bar maiden wouldn’t have thrown him out of the tavern with such force if that were the case. Her strength was something to be admired, though! <br/><br/>“Aelfric,” the man - Aelfric - fills in for him. “I am a man of the Church. If you are in need of further healing, please, let me bring you to our sanctuary.” <br/><br/>“The Church, huh?” Most wouldn’t use the words pious or reverent in the same sentence as Balthus, but hey, maybe this stroke of charity is a blessing from the goddess herself. And besides, where else is he going to go? “Alright, pal. Lead the way.” <br/><br/>Aelfric clasps his shoulder and leads him stumbling deeper into the night. </p><p>---</p><p>It’s weird to once again see the spires of the Central Church pierce into the sky as he and Aelfric approach Garreg Mach, as the last time he passed through this path, he was a recent graduate of noble status. Today, he’s little more than a homeless fugitive.</p><p>He never exactly thought of the monastery as a “home” per se, the rigid walls and even more rigid rules seemed like a challenge to defy at best or isolating and unwelcoming at worst. However, Balthus knew there was more to Garreg Mach than dusty old textbooks and dorm rooms - something with that much history is bound to come with some baggage and secrets. It’s like how Vanar the Great would stumble upon a seemingly mundane cave, only to find there were creatures of the dark lurking about - and sometimes, a great treasure hidden behind the stone walls. <br/><br/>It still manages to surprise him, however, when Aelferic leads him to an enclave cut into the earth, sheltering a staircase that bores down into the depths underneath the monastery. <br/><br/>What he finds below is something only Vanar the Great could imagine.</p><p>People, everywhere - a bustling city marketplace thrumming right under the heart of the Garreg Mach, outlined with damp alleyways not unlike the one he found himself sleeping in previously. Different stalls offer an assortment of wares, none of which Balthus could afford at the time being, but he can’t help but covet the spiked gauntlets sitting there lookin’ pretty. He isn’t so immoral as to try to swipe them after such gracious hospitality, but the fact that the shopkeeper looks like he’s not above swiping a few of Balthus’s fingers in revenge is enough theft deterrence alone for any onlooker.</p><p>“This is what we call Abyss,” Aelfric says, leading him further down the street with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a sanctuary for those less fortunate, who have been shunned from Fodlan society for one reason or another. This is a safe place for souls with no other way to turn.”<br/><br/>“Guess that counts as me, too.” There’s no bite to it, simply a matter of fact. He could spare to be a little dryer, given how the holes in his boots pick up every drop of water falling from the ceiling above or already pooling in the musty streets below, but it could be a lot worse. In the land of outcasts, it’ll be easy to lay low long enough to have his debt collectors lose his scent. Even if they discovered the entrance to Abyss, Balthus suspects that those used to dealing with noble affairs and petty gangs of thieves would be scared away by the hulking man who guarded the main entryway. Balthus might be too if his muscles weren’t just as big - maybe bigger!</p><p>From the way the guard greeted Aelfric with familiarity, to the manner in which townspeople pay no mind to Aelfric and his new companion, Balthus can pick up on the way how even the rougher sorts occupying town respect Aelfric. The subtle nods of the head, appreciative glances, other subtle cues that all give an impression of respect, maybe even gratitude. At one point, they’re greeted with even smiles and waves from children playing games and hanging from rafters above, paying little mind to how the wooden beams could give away any moment. It’s the kind of dangerous and foolhardy play that Balthus would get into when he was their age, and the thought brings back happy memories of near-death experiences. He might be unlucky in cards, but he’s pretty lucky that he and Holst lived through childhood!<br/><br/>Despite the imposing terrain and cramped setup, it’s obvious to Balthus that the people milling about have built a home here in Abyss - perhaps not a glamorous one, but one of ample life. </p><p>Aelfric continues to guide him through a labyrinth of side tunnels and passageways, the chatter of the main street of town drowns into the steady gurgle of streaming aqueducts and echoes of their footsteps upon the path. Lit torches align the walls, giving Balthus a peer into different rooms - perhaps storage or residential quarters? Finally, Aelfric stops in front of a threshold that opens up into what appears to be a disheveled classroom of all things.<br/><br/>“Dear friend, I would like to introduce you to my flock - the Ashen Wolves House.” <br/><br/>It’s here where Balthus meets the embodiment of glamor himself. </p><p>Balthus wasn’t sure at first if the person in front of him was a man or a woman, all he knew was that they were a total bombshell. Donning an embroidered jacket and draped in a white cape, the person embodied an aura of nobility and command. <br/><br/>Aelfric approaches the person and places his hand on their shoulder with a paternal fondness. “This is Yuri, the leader of the Ashen Wolves. He’ll be an excellent resource in helping you get adjusted to life in Abyss.” <br/><br/>Well, best to make a good first impression. <br/><br/>Balthus takes Yuri’s hand, ignoring the stranger’s disgruntled expression, “If all the women in Abyss are as gorgeous as you, it can’t be half bad down here.” He says, bowing his head.</p><p>In a moment, Yuri hand wraps around his own. Before Balthus can grin, his arm is burning from the speed at which Yuri twists it. <br/><br/>“Charmed.” <br/><br/>“Oi, hey! Take it easy pal!” Balthus croaks, wriggling his way out of Yuri’s hold. <br/><br/>“Yuri, be kind to our guest,” Aelfric says, sounding sheepish, likely equally over Balthus’s foolhardy advances and Yuri’s sudden streak of violence. </p><p>“I’m only giving a helpful lesson to our new <em> friend </em> ,” Yuri lilts in a sing-song tone. “If you want to survive down here, you should keep your hands to yourself.” <br/><br/>Balthus bites his tongue before he can say another innuendo and get himself into deeper trouble. </p><p>“Lesson learned.” Balthus grunts, rubbing his arm. “For being so small, you sure do pack a punch,” he continued good-naturedly. “Sometime we should arm wrestle. I think the best way to know a guy is to get in the ring with ‘em.”</p><p>It would be a real treat to go toe-to-toe with this guy and see if he’s as sharp on the field as he is with his attitude. The more Balthus is around him, the more he has an impression that this fella must have a million tricks up his sleeve. He thinks Yuri might not put up a fair fight, but Balthus can respect his unwieldy nature. </p><p>“I prefer to fight with my sword,” Yuri says, patting the blade sheathed by his side. “But there <em> is </em> a fighting ring here. Maybe we can place a friendly bet or two.”</p><p>Balthus decides this guy might be alright after all. “Deal! Well, after I get my hands on some gold, first…”<br/><br/>Aelfric coughs lightly, trailing towards the threshold of the classroom. “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I must return to my post at the church. Yuri, I trust it will be alright to leave the newest member of our flock in your care?” <br/><br/>“Sure thing.” <br/><br/>Aelfric nods before turning to Balthus. “You’ll be safe here now, Balthus. I will check in when I can ensure you are adjusting well here. Until then, please excuse me. Farewell.”</p><p>Once Aelfric clears the room, Balthus slumps against a desk and cradles his head in his hands. <br/><br/>“I have no clue how I’m ever gonna repay that guy,” he says with a groan. </p><p>From the cracks between his fingers, Balthus can see how Yuri shifts his weight from side to side. <br/><br/>“Well friend, I can at least say I know how you feel.” When Balthus lifts his head, Yuri’s glossed lips are pressed into a sharp, thin line. “I hate feeling indebted to others. I always repay my debts.”</p><p>Balthus chokes out a small laugh. “Heh, can’t say I’m the same. That’s what landed me here, actually.” </p><p>Yuri stares at him for a long moment, before turning towards the hallway. <br/><br/>“Come on, friend. Let me show you around our home.” <br/><br/>Together, they walk back towards the marketplace, where foods of Dagdan and Almyran variety are served, people of all walks of life barter for goods, children can goof around together. Abyss seems like a chaotic blend of freedom and danger, a little rough around the edges and maybe a bit of a mess, but seems like hell of a fun place to live, too. Might not be a bad place to hole up for a while until he gets back on his feet. Maybe even start over - a fresh start to a new story. One that Balthus could even be a hero in. <br/><br/></p><p><br/>‘Home’ is what Yuri said. <br/><br/>Yeah. Balthus likes the sound of that. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>balthus just needs some love....</p></blockquote></div></div>
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